


Mine

by Louhetar



Series: Jonmund Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Happy Sex, Husbands, Jon Snow getting what he deserves, Jon Snow's glorious butt, Kissing, Long-Haired Jon Snow, M/M, Making Out, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Jon Snow, Possessive Tormund, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Tumblr Prompt, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louhetar/pseuds/Louhetar
Summary: Some man flirts with Jon during a feast. Tormund, seeing that, decides to prove to him where Jon belongs.Contains arrrrt





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dornessiti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornessiti/gifts).

> Based on a Tumble Prompt: 'Showverse prompt where a wildling compliments Jon at a feast and is being kind of flirty but Jon doesn’t really notice/brushes it off with a laugh to tease Tormund who gets playfully jealous. Later on, when they’re together, he goes, “Mine.”'
> 
> Art by me
> 
> Beta by Jenny_D
> 
> Comments appreciated 🥰

Jon was sitting down on a pile of furs during the feast A small horn of fermented milk in his hands. He hasn't been drinking much, hardly at all. He still wasn't a fan of the drink.

The feast was held due to the big, annual meeting of the clans. Though this was the first time in many years that they'd held the event. The White Walkers had proved too much of a threat for people to travel with anything other than war against the Crows in mind. This year, the meeting is being held by their clan. Jon was happy they didn't have to do any additional travel.

The North is… less freezing. Spring has come and while it's still cold and there's still snow around, it's nowhere near as freezing as he remembers. It's more how he remembers summer in Winterfell.

Jon is content. He's been living here in a small hut with his husband for over a year now. The Free Folk took no time to accept him as their own. The former monicker, Crow, now is used as a playful nickname. His role is one of a chieftain, along with Tormund, a role he didn't want but which he eventually fell into. They don't rule, they lead. He can be fine with that. Still, he leaves most of it to his husband.

So it comes to him in a big surprise when suddenly there is a heavy weight seating itself next to him.

That's not his mate.

"What is a pretty face like yours doing all alone here?" The big man asks with a glint in his eye. Jon's a little shocked. No one would ever dare to try to flirt with him. Not unless they're eager to meet his husband's fists. He doesn't recognise the warrior and realises, he must be from a different clan. The stranger must not know who he is.

He looks beyond the man, towards Tormund. His husband is talking to some other chieftain some metres away from Jon. He's seemingly focused on the talk, but his stormy blue eyes are trained on Jon. Tormund is wearing lighter clothing, similar to what Jon remembers the hulking man was wearing when they first met. His furs are lighter and draped on top of steel chainmail, a gift from Sansa. Wide golden bracelets glimmer on his arms and his long hair has braids in it similar to Jon's. He looks striking. Jon finally moves his gaze back to the nuisance sitting in front of him.

"Just sitting around the fire and enjoying my drink," Jon replies simply and takes a sip, trying very hard not to make a face at the foul taste.

"I'm not sure if you realise, cute thing, but you're sitting in the chief's spot. Why won't you come sit with me, before you anger anyone?" The man leans way too close for Jon's comfort. The stranger seems fairly sober, but Jon really has no clue what made him think that Jon's free or sitting on a spot belonging to anyone else. The foreign man must truly not know who Jon is. It almost makes him chuckle. 

He looks above the warrior's shoulder and notes that Tormund's face had gotten darker, but his husband hasn't done anything. 

Yet. 

Let's see if he can get a reaction from his mate.

Jon leans over the man, making him believe he's going to kiss his neck, if the shiver that goes through is any indication. But Jon just smirks and whispers to the man's ear, hoping his words will have the right effect. "It's polite to introduce yourself when you try to court someone. My name is Jon Snow." 

He leans away and can't stop the smirk that makes his way onto his lips when he sees how the big man's face turns paler with every passing second. The stranger throws a wild look around, stopping at Tormund, who in turn sends him a death glare. It seems his name is known better than his looks. He continues, "I think I'm sitting in my right spot, unlike you my friend. Why don't you come sit elsewhere, before you anger my lovely husband?" He shoots with a raised eyebrow and watches as the huge man scatters away hurriedly. Jon can't help his chuckle as he watches the stranger go. He takes another sip of the foul milk and almost spits it out, having forgotten it wasn't ale.

Through his grimace at the disgusting alcohol, he doesn't notice Tormund approaching. He squeaks fearfully when a pair of strong arms yanks him up by his furs.

"You're coming with me. Now." The giant man growls at him and Jon gets hot all over. A strong hand captures his arm and he lets himself be led away from the fires, towards the direction of the trees.

As soon as they're away, Tormund pins him to a tall pine tree. "What was that, Little Crow?" the man whispers against his ear dangerously and bites on it, sucking on the lobe. Jon moans lowly.

The voice is stern, but Jon can hear the playfulness it’s underlined with. His husband isn’t jealous in any way. The way he smirks down at him. He’s just playful. Jon loves him so much.

"That was a man who clearly didn't know who I was," he answers, heat pulling low in his belly. Tormund has one hand on his hip and another on his shoulder. Jon's pressed to the tree with a strength he doesn't dare to fight. To his surprise, he doesn't smell any alcohol on his lover. This is sober talk. It makes him only hotter.

"And what did you tell him?" a low, possessive growl comes from the man and Jon can feel himself getting hard at the sound.

He smirks.

"I told him who I belong to," he whispers back and watches with satisfaction as Tormund gives him a wild, dark look. He's never seen his husband this possessive before and it fills his cock in an instant. He rolls his hips, satisfied with the hardness he feels against them there.

"Maybe you need a reminder of that?" a low murmur and Tormund slams his mouth to his, sharp teeth biting at his lips and a hot tongue invades his mouth. Jon moans into it and can feel his knees tremble.

"Do I?" he shoots back against the bearded lips and yelps when his long, braided hair gets pulled, exposing his long neck to the man.

_ "Mine," _ the row rumble of Tormund's voice makes him shiver and he groans deeply when his husband bites down on his exposed shoulder, marking his flesh with his sharp teeth.

"That's right, pretty Crow, you belong to me." The dominant, possessive words make Jon _ want _. He shudders when Tormund lays bites and kisses on his shoulder and neck. Jon knows they will bloom with dark love bites; he loves the thought of getting marked. He wants to be claimed by the wild man.

"Prove it." 

Tormund's hand snakes its way to grip the base of his jaw. Jon grunts and bares his neck to him submissively and shivers at the cold hold touching his skin. He looks up and sees wildfire burning in those blue eyes. Hungry. Dominant. He wants their heat to envelop him. To burn him to his very core.

The pressure grows, never cutting his airflow, just controlling. Jon feels so free being able to give away control like this to his husband. To the person he trusts with his life. 

Tormund shoves his knee between Jon's legs. The smirk he sends him makes Jon feel definitely too hot in his furs despite the present chill in the air.

"So the little, sweet Crow's already this hard?" Tormund murmurs when he presses against Jon's painful erection. Jon whimpers at the words and tries to buck his hips, to get some friction.

Tormund's smirk only grows darker when Jon tries to rub his cock. To no avail. Tormund's grip is strong, pinning his hips and trapping Jon against him.

Jon lets out a huff.

"Ever so greedy, pup," Tormund teases against his collarbone, his voice low and rough like gravel. His hand still snug around Jon's throat.

"Fuck," Jon gasps and bites his lip hard, arousal and desire clouding his mind. Jon has long stopped feeling guilty or bad for stating his desires.

He is Tormund's. 

But his husband is _ his. _

"I told you to prove it. Do it," Jon finally growls, the sound slightly choked due to the pressure on his throat.

The answering low burr from his husband makes him shudder. Jon gasps when Tormund's hand releases his neck and proceeds to move his furs. Chilly air hits his bare chest, but not for long because his nipple gets sucked into a hot mouth and Jon moans. "Stop teasing me and fuck me," he growls an order. Letting that wild thing living inside his heart speak for him. Daring. Challenging.

Tormund's eyeing him with a dark, lusty look. The man's breathing heavily, panting. Similar to a wild animal about to attack.

And attack he does.

A sharp pain in his shoulder shoots through Jon when Tormund surges and lands a bite there again, sucking on the skin and leaving dark bruises. Jon grunts at the feeling and moans when his husband proceeds to unlace his breeches. Pressure from his throat disappears. Instead, strong hands turn him around and his back gets pressed against Tormund's chest. The wild man tugs off his trousers with both hands, baring him for his hungry eyes to feast on.

"Mine. All mine," Tormund's growl is possessive when he runs his hand on Jon's ass, kneading the flesh there. "I'm going to have you right here, against a tree. Do you want it?"

"Yes," Jon gasps. "But, we've no oil," he realises, looking back at the man.

Tormund just smirks at him and produces a small flagon of animal fat from some pocket in his coat. "That's where you're wrong," the wildling purrs and licks a long stripe on his neck.

_ Tor," _ he gasps and bucks his hips into Tormund's touch, making the bigger man grunt and growl.

"So needy, you always get hard in the instant I touch you, little wolf. Do you want it so badly?" a low murmur against his ear.

"Mmm…" 

Tormund stops and looks him in the eyes, wildfire blazing in the sea blue depths. 

"I'm going to fuck you, Jon. Fuck you so hard, your screams will reach the ears of that cunt that thought he could have you. Going to show him just who you belong to," Tormund's growls hotly into his ear. Jon moans deeply. The filth coming from his husband's mouth and the sheer possessiveness make the heat in his gut spill and fill him with overwhelming need. 

"Fuck, Tormund, _ please _," Jon squirms in the grip, the cloud of lust in his mind making him roll his eyes back and go limp against the strong chest holding his back.

Warm, slick fingers brush over his entrance and Jon gasps but spreads his stand, giving his mate better access. "That's it, you want it so badly don't you? Horny little wolf," Tormund bites his earlobe and Jon keens.

His husband's fingers finally push gently, going two at a time as Jon's still a bit loose from their morning round when he rode his husband lazily.

Jon moans at the intrusion and thrusts his hips back, trying to get more inside. "More, please," he gasps.

"You're right, pup. You're way too quiet," Tormund murmurs against his ear and curls his fingers with a smirk.

Jon moans loudly when his spot gets hit and a wave of hot white bliss floods his being. Gods, he can never get enough of it. Of how well Tormund knows his body. How well he knows _ him _. Jon sometimes muses how much only a few years of living among the free folk has changed him. He remembers how he and Tormund had to sneak and hide their relationship in the past, in Westeros. There is no one to hide from here. So when Tormund said he's going to make him scream loud enough for people to hear, Jon fully believed him.

He’s panting, Tormund's big fingers stretching him in scissoring motions. A third is added and Jon shudders, going a bit more limp underneath his mate. He collects himself to look back at his husband. A small, dark smile is on his lips. "You said you were going to make me scream. Was that just boasting?"

"You brat," Tormund's gaze darkens, eyes appearing almost black in low light. He yanks his fingers away and Jon gasps at the sudden loss. A strong hand grips Jon's long, braided hair and pulls, earning a loud yelp. "You're going to cum screaming on my cock, Jon." Tormund purrs so low it's barely audible. His lubed length rubbing against Jon's hole.

Jon braces himself against the tree, locking his knees, and looks back at his husband with a wolfish smile.

"Make me."

Tormund growls feraly and thrusts into him, sheathing himself inside Jon in one strong move. 

"Fuck!" Jon shouts loudly. The stretch isn't painful. It's intense. Always so _ fucking _ intense. He's gasping, trying to catch his breath, but the wildling thrusts again with enough force to make him choke. 

"That's right, you needy thing. Scream for me," Strong hands, big enough to encircle his waist grip him tightly and his husband sets a slow pace, driving his length deep into him with every thrust.

Jon's sweating, panting heavily, and loving every second of it. His cock is aching and weeping. Neglected as he's too busy bracing against the tree his upper body is pressed into. He's aware what he must look like. Breeches down at his feet, his fur coat partially removed, his chest uncovered. Long, braided hair disheveled. He must look just as wild as the man currently fucking into him. It fills his belly with satisfying heat.

"Mm… harder, my love," he murmurs and bites his lips hard.

Tormund doesn't answer but pulls out of him, only to thrust with more force and speed.

"Fuck, yes. Just like that-!" Jon grunts and screams when sharp teeth find the same spot on his shoulder for the third time and bite down.

"Mine," a low, possessive growl and Tormund sucks what now must be a very big love bite on his shoulder.

Jon loves it. His husband possessiveness isn't selfish. He always all but worships Jon's body. He's being spoiled and pampered and he really can't feel unworthy of it. Not when he feels so good. He's panting loudly, his moans getting louder with time. Jon should care. He should care they'll be heard. That they'll be seen. 

He doesn't care.

Let them see if they must.

"Ever so tight, little wolf. So tight on my cock." Tormund's grunting and growling, thrusting into Jon with fast movements.

"It's not me _ ah _ being tight. It's you being ah- so big." Jon manages to gasp between the thrusts.

Tormund snickers. "Both?"

"Aye, both," he chuckles back and lets a loud shout when the next snap of Tormund's hips hits his prostate.

Jon's back arches against his husband's chest and he lets a loud, ongoing scream when Tormund sets a fast, punishing pace.

"Fuck, fuck fuck_ , Tormuuuund!" _

"Just like that Jon, scream my name," the wildling grunts into his ear and nips on his lobe.

Jon almost sobs when Tormund's hand leaves his hip and wraps around his aching cock. 

"Love to ruin you, my sweet thing. Fuck my fist, go on, Jon."

He does just that. Jon bucks his hips, matching his thrusts with Tormund's fucking. His spot gets hit with almost every thrust and it's nearly too much. The heat, burning low in his belly, begins to get too intense He's close, so close. He needs a moment, his head filled with a consuming desire to notice he's growling and yelling. Every move, every thrust, is getting him closer and closer to orgasm.

"Tormund, ah ah, please, _ fuck!" _he mewls. He musters himself to turn his head to the side, to look at his husband.

Tormund's face is focused, heavy lidded eyes trained on his. Face flushed and furs disheveled, showing his muscled chest covered in sweat. "Damn it, Jon you're so fucking hot," the man grunts and captures his lips in a bruising kiss. The kind of kiss so deep and filthy Jon gets lost in it. "Tor, I- I-" he gasps, eyes rolling back.

"Go on, scream my name, little wolf." Tormund's hand speeds up, spreading the leaking precum over his shaft. His lover's voice just as wrecked as his. When Jon finally comes, he spills all over the wildling's hand with a loud scream of his husband's name on his lips. His back arches and Tormund jerks his softening cock till the last of his high goes down. 

He goes limp against the warm chest and lets Tormund rock his body, both hands against his hips. The feeling still delicious despite just cumming. With a couple of more thrusts, Tormund grunts loudly, murmuring his name, and hot seed fills him. He moans at the feeling and lets Tormund rock into him several more times, chasing the last bits of his orgasm.

"Fuck, Jon," Tormund's still panting, but Jon accepts his big hands putting his clothes back in place with a smile and a content sigh. He's still a bit limp and fears his knees may give out. His husband must have noticed, because suddenly Jon's in the air and Tormund has Jon"s legs wrapped around his waist. Blue, shimmering eyes look into his and there is a content, playful smile on his mate's handsome face. As always, he's impressed with just how strong Tormund is. And how gentle he always is with him. He surges and captures Tormund's lips in a soft kiss, drinking in the scent of his husband, iron and pine needles.

"There you are, my love," Tormund murmurs as he carries him back in the direction of the fires. "Wonder how many heard you," he muses with a smirk. This time despite himself, Jon blushes. Seeing his reaction, his man laughs joyfully, full of mirth and life, and Jon can't be mad at them. They're in the North. Free Folk don't care for nudity like the southerners do. Their bodies are appreciated, not shamed. 

"I wasn't the only loud one," he finally murmurs between kisses, a lazy smile on his mouth.

"No, but the way you screamed my name, must have ruined the dreams of any cunt that may even think of taking you."

"You're mine, Tor," Jon whispers, melting into the warm embrace.

"Aye, you're mine, and I'm yours, my little husband."


End file.
